The Forge and the Watcher
by a clockwork infinity
Summary: Kirk and Spock end up in the Vulcan desert just before the period of the Winds. Based off a passage in Spock's World. Implied K/S, implied bond, no slash. One-shot (?) Warning: character death.


**So this is based off a passage in Spock's World (the one with Tes and Kesh and the sandstorm), where I was reading and thought, what if the same thing happened to Kirk and Spock? I mean, the plot is different, but that's where it came from.  
I don't really know what category this is, but I wanted to write it. So...here we go!**

* * *

They are lost in the Vulcan desert, throats parched, mouths dry, blazing sun beating down.  
_Not lost, _Kirk reminds himself. _Misallocated, rather. Just transported to the wrong coordinates._  
He keeps faith that Spock will find a way to get them out of this Hell, anyway- though perhaps not in time for the all-important interplanetary conference that they were supposed to be at _right now. _He tries, ineffectively, to push down the rising feeling of panic that grows inside him.  
_Spock, _he whispers, mentally.  
_Jim._  
Jim feels Spock's middle and index finger press gently against his own, love flowing through their bond. The two friends (friends? lovers? brothers?) glance at each other, and both realize that the other is smiling, despite the heat and the dust and the fatigue, and a small, chaste kiss is stolen before continuing on.  
_Ashayam.  
_Fingers interlocked, they walk until darkness falls. Then Spock decides that they must rest, and they fall asleep. Only the craters of T'Khut see the first officer's lean body curled around the captain's in a desperate attempt to shield him from the frigid desert night.

Jim is awoken the next morning by steady hands shaking his shoulders. He blinks into the bright Vulcan sun as pointy ears and slanted eyebrows come into focus.  
"Come," Spock says. "The Winds will soon be upon us. It is advisable to seek shelter as quickly as we may find it."  
Jim jumps up, grinning impishly. "What are we waiting for, then?" The Vulcan's brow creases and then smooths again as he processes the Terran phrase. He smiles. "Let us get started." The sun burns on, hot on their backs, as they continue to press on. Spock feels the slight breezes tickling his back and says nothing, but tears a strip of his uniform to tie around his nose and mouth, and motions for Jim to do the same.

By midday, the breeze has picked up to a salty, stinging gale, stirring up clouds of dust and sand. _We need to find shelter, _he communicates through the bond. Jim nods, eyes bright. _And soon._ Speaking has become too painful- even if their throats weren't arid with dehydration, the wind whips up tornadoes of dangerous sand that strike randomly, reducing everything in their path to ash. It is true what the ancient Vulcans said, that secrets are hidden under the layers of dust.  
Through the screaming sand, they stumble on.

By mid-afternoon- or it may be sooner, for time passes slowly in the desert- Spock knows that the Winds will be upon them, as humans have it, any second now, and that they will not find so much as a rock to hide under in time. All he can do is press Jim tightly against his chest, and hold them together in the face of the blinding, twisting Winds. He can sense confusion through the bond as the whirlwind hits and swallows Jim's verbal screams, but not his mental terror.  
_Spock? Spock!_  
The wind tumbles them over, blowing them about like dry weed, first officer clutching captain. _  
Do not worry... _  
-blowing them over and over and over and- _  
Spock- _  
He holds on tight, not about to let Jim go flying into the desert storm to be buried under eons of sand. _  
We touch, my love, it's all right- _  
The wind claws at them viciously, relentless, and suddenly the world is dark.  
Then nothing.

When Spock opens his eyes, it is dusk, though he does not know if it is the same day or many days from then.  
He becomes aware of the captain that his arms still enfold, although his embrace is loose, now. He gingerly brushes sand from Jim's lips with one finger, the makeshift bandanna having now been dislodged. The small grains of dust come away from the soft, dry mouth, stick to Spock's finger and then fall to the ground.  
He calls through the link that holds him and his t'hy'la together._  
Jim. _  
_Jim. _  
He cups Jim's face with one hand, thumb rubbing cheekbone. _  
Jim.  
_It is then that he notices that the bond is cold, Jim's heart closed. It is then that he sees the immobile chest and the eyelashes that do not flutter. It is then that he can see how small and fragile and vulnerable his captain is when there is nobody left to protect but himself, how limp and unmoving his body is now that there is no one left to save.  
And it nearly breaks him.  
"Ashayam," he whispers. "Parted from me and never parted. Never and always touching and touched-" he chokes, burying his face in Jim's hair, fingertips pressing the other's hand again and again, trying to reestablish contact with skin that, only moments ago, it seemed was warm with blood and life and vitality- the tears come in an unprecedented moment of pure emotion, crying over his captain's body, now so still in his arms.

"Jim, _Jim-_" But tears, no matter how plentiful, will not revive James Kirk.

The Watcher, the Nightmare, T'Khut, rises over the horizon and sees all.

* * *

**I think that's it! :) (Did it make sense? I hope so.)**

**Thanks so much for reading. God, I hope it wasn't too short. I cannot for the life of me write long, epic stories.**

**Please tell me what you thought (even if you hated it, I'd like to know what I could fix!)**

**Any questions, feel free to ask by way of review or PM.**

**Again, thank you.**

**Of course, as usual, I definitely do not own any part of Star Trek. Because if I did... *gazes dreamily into the distance*...ah...**


End file.
